“Easy, boys, easy.” The geldings stand, leaning forward in the harness, the rope tight. “Easy. Easy.” Andrei’s right by the mare’s head, the lines in his hands. He flicks them lightly. The horses pull.
The noose tightens and tightens around the mare’s neck. Andrei senses a sudden frenzy, both in himself, and in the mare; it seems that the whites of her eyes will shoot out of her head. The mare’s choking. Andrei backs the team. As quick as he can, he’s at the noose, prying it open with his fingers.
He needs something else to tie to the mare. Mr. Kuzyk’s stump-pulling chain is where he left it at the edge of the breaking, wrapped around the arm of a tree. Andrei leads the team to a spot by the creek away from the soap hole, where he ties halter shanks to willow shrubs, then runs non-stop for the chain. He runs as fast as he did in the races at Batoche, and five times as far, fast even on the way back dragging a chain.
With the chain fastened around the mare’s neck, hooked so that it can tighten no more, the horses pull again. The mare’s shoulders twitch and roll, her head and neck twisting under the strain. The hooves scramble in the sticks. A front foot plunges into the muck. The horse snorts and the foot springs back out with a smack of a sucking sound. The team steady in its pull. Snorts and sucks. Snorts and sucks. The colt flits again, back and forth, watching, ears laid back.
“Haahhh!” A yell comes, cursing in the name of diseases, “Cholera!” Shouts from a distance, “Cholera! Cholera!” Mr. Kuzyk swears in the Ukrainian practice of naming diseases. “Cholera! What are you doing with my horse?”
His bulk tumbles over the meadow, half running, half walking, all out of breath. He gets to the bog just as the mare’s emerging, free at last. Andrei hands the lines to Mr. Kuzyk then fall to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
Chapter 13
It has become routine for Mr. Kuzyk’s buggy and bay mare to suddenly appear at Bayda’s, but this visit is different. And it’s not only because he’s left the bay at home. This time Mr. Kuzyk seems different.
“The mare must have been stuck in that bog all night and day,” he says to Andrei, who stands at the front of the team, gripping the bridle on one of the jittery two-year-olds. “I spent an hour rubbing her down, but she got a terrible chill. I think she’ll survive, but she’s not well. Getting her back to health will take time.”
He doesn’t peer over Andrei’s head to the garden, nor to the well. Doesn’t glance to the side as if expecting Marie to be standing in the doorway of the house. This time his attention’s glued to Andrei. He doesn’t cringe, doesn’t cover his mouth and cough. His head doesn’t scrunch down into the fleshy folds of his neck. His eyes don’t squint and waver. He sits tall in the buggy, taller than he really is, or at least taller than Andrei remembers.
“But all in all, she’ll be fine.”
“Does she have milk for the colt?” Andrei asks.
“That’s what I want to see you about. The colt has to be weaned. There’s no milk, and even if there was, feeding the colt would sap what strength she has. I told you that a colt with his bloodlines is worth a lot of money, and I hoped to keep him as a sire.”
Andrei has never given up hope, but he’s also been realistic. He’s realized that the colt would more than likely be fully grown before he’d even come close to owning it.
“If you want him weaned, won’t he have to be kept away from her?”
“That’s just it,” Mr. Kuzyk says, stepping down from the buggy. He stands face to face with Andrei. At this moment it appears they each have grown in stature. They are about to seal a transaction.
“I think you’ve come a long way in your quest to own the colt, my boy.”
Andrei nods his head. Mr. Kuzyk extends his hand to shake some kind of agreement.
“You can come stook for a week or two,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “I have the mare penned. The colt runs loose in the yard. He doesn’t go far. In the evenings you can work with the colt. Teach him to lead. Teach him to follow you home. I’ve decided that after a week or two, you can keep him here to train. Of course he still is mine. He’s worth a lot of money, and you know how tough it is to make a living on the farm. But I tell you what. I’ll let you take the honour to name him, and if you work enough hours for me by next year’s harvest, you just might save enough money to buy him outright.”
Andrei has been thinking all summer about a name, and wondering how he could bring up the subject. Now he has the opportunity.
“I know a name already,” Andrei says.
“Oh? Well then, why not give it to him right this minute?”
“He will run like the wind,” Andrei says. “That’s what I name him...Vityr!”
“An excellent name,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “And come to my farm tomorrow morning. I have lots for you to do.” He climbs into his buggy and starts out of the yard. At the last minute he stops, and turns his head to Andrei.
“Just one more thing. I know how hard you can work. But remember that to grow, you also need rest. So,” Mr. Kuzyk says, “on the best of days no more work than twelve hours. Understand? That’s enough stooking for any man.”
•••
Starting the next morning at Kuzyk’s, Andrei works from six o’clock in the morning till six o’clock in the evening. He still has at least three hours of sunlight to train the colt. He carries the halter in one hand and rubs the colt on the neck with the other. The colt steps out of reach and Andrei tries again.
“Good boy, Vityr,” he whispers. “Good boy.” Andrei moves again slowly, patting the neck, holding out a carrot. Vityr nibbles at it and the carrot falls to the ground. Andrei picks it up and tries again. This time Vityr’s lips and teeth hang on, the carrot bobbing, then disappearing into the animal’s mouth. Andrei pats again, only this time sliding the halter over Vityr’s ears. It hangs loose, but stays on. Andrei continues the rubbing. He rubs the neck on both sides, rubs the ears, and through all this buckles up the halter. “Good boy, Vityr,” Andrei says again. He reaches down to rub the belly and the colt runs off.
Every night after supper Andrei’s with the colt. By the end of the week he can rub, pat, and caress as much as he wants. Vityr follows him around for more. All Andrei has to do is hold a carrot in his hand and the colt runs to him from across the yard. On Saturday afternoon, Vityr follows Andrei all the way to the Bayda homestead. For the rest of the month, he works with Vityr at home.
September
Chapter 14
Andrei’s digging the cellar hole under the centre storeroom of their house. Mama wants it finished before freeze-up. It’s good for potatoes to stay in the ground as long as they can before winter, but they will have to be brought in before it gets too cold.
In this dark and musty hole, Andrei’s mind fills with thoughts of the golden cup. He wonders about the visions, and about the big rock on the coulee hillside. About Snow Walker. After Andrei’s visit to the rock with Dido, he’s been afraid to go back. There are enough dangers in the bush with wolves and bears. He doesn’t need the threats of ghosts and shadows, and of spells a Cree medicine man might inflict.
He can think about Vityr. In another year he might be riding him through the forest. It will be at least a year; Vityr has a lot of growing to do yet. But Andrei’s already teaching the colt to rein.
Andrei sets the shovel against the cellar wall and climbs the short ladder, carrying a bucket of dirt. Mama and Marie have gone off into the bush to pick mushrooms. This would be a good time to work with the colt.
The sky’s a pale blue with patches of fluffy white clouds, the air filled with garden smells. Brovko dashes across the yard, in pursuit of a rabbit. Andrei digs a carrot from the soil and whistles for the colt. In a flash he’s standing at the garden’s wattle fence, bobbing his head.
Andrei loops twine through a ring on the halter’s chinstrap, then runs each end through makeshift stirrups he’s attached to a blanket tied on the colt’s back. He walks behind Vityr, holding the ends of the twine, driving the colt across the yar
d.
“Come here, Brovko,” Andrei says. The dog gives a final bark at his vanished rabbit and runs to Andrei’s call. They are going for a hike into the bush.
The colt responds to the reins. He can turn right and left. He can stop. He can back up. He can break into a run. By the time winter comes, Andrei wants him to be able to pull a sled.
They trot out of the yard and down the trail, Brovko running ahead, then running back to meet them. He sniffs at trees and follows paths beaten through willow shrubs. Andrei runs the colt. Stops him. They walk. They go on like this all the way to the coulee. He’s so busy with Vityr that for the time being he’s forgotten about the possibility of spooks and spirits. At the coulee, Andrei pulls the twine out of the stirrups and leads the colt. He decides to explore. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
They go down the coulee hill, keeping a distance from the rock, except for Brovko, who runs all over. At the bottom of the coulee, they cross on a deer trail through the willow bluffs and over a dry creek bed. A faint trail follows along the other side of the creek. They take it to where the coulee forks, splitting right and left. They follow to the right, the trail a carpet of green grass where deer have been grazing. Andrei notices small clumps of their droppings, and single pellets spread here and there in the grass. Brovko sniffs the trail. An eroded clay bank looms above them, straight up twenty feet. The clay is streaked in spots with layers of charcoal and white ashes. Further along, the narrow fork widens into a bowl-like plateau. They enter a place with trees spread about, the kind with the twisted trunks and branches, each tree, it seems, reaching in a different direction, all of them bent.
As soon as Andrei spots the cabin, at least a dozen magpies chatter and squawk, as if Andrei’s party has invaded their domain. They fly from branch to branch, high and low, crossing paths. They swoop and soar. It would seem they are protecting their nests, but the season is long past hatching time. Most of the birds that swoop and dive are likely this spring’s hatch.
They fly here and there...dart off toward the cabin, perch on the flat sod roof, plop down in front of the clay-plastered wall hung with weasel pelts and wolfskins. They peck at the ground, fly up on a tree, then scold Andrei’s intrusion. Another magpie...another and another, fly and dart and flit the same air paths in varied order...all the magpies screeching.
All at once the scene darkens. A cloud blots out whatever sunlight has been filtering through the green ash leaves. Vityr stiffens, his ears pressed back. He and Andrei step back. Vityr snorts and the toss of his head pulls the twine from Andrei’s hand. Brovko whimpers, crawling at Andrei’s feet, belly to the ground. Andrei can’t be sure, but he thinks he spots a dark form that scurries from back of the cabin into the trees.
Andrei turns away, moving in a fast walk, away from the cabin and out of the grove, back the way they came. They follow the creek bed, past the eroded clay bank all the way to the willow bluffs. From here they climb up the coulee hill. Andrei glances over to the rock. Just a big rock; that’s all it is. He’d stop and dig up the goatskin bag if he didn’t have to go back to the cellar hole. But really, he’s afraid. That will have to be another time.
October
Chapter 15
Tato and Dido bring more supplies with them on their return from the harvest at Klassen’s farm. They bring more flour and sugar, and they bring money. Tato talks to Mama about the things they’ll need to purchase for the winter. But more importantly, as far as Marie is concerned, Tato brings a letter from Petrus Shumka. She blushes, and as if all the other things Tato and Dido have brought with them are of no importance whatsoever, she races with the letter to the garden.
“Get away, Andrei. I can see you hiding behind the fence.” Marie stands among the hanging heads of sunflowers. She opens her letter with the sharp edge of her thumbnail.
“What does Petrus say?”
“They can’t make me marry Wasyl Kuzyk now,” Marie says. “Petrus will be here for Christmas.”
Andrei breaks off a head from a sunflower. “Petrus is coming,” he yells, running to join Dido sitting on the bench along the south side of the house. The dog runs at Andrei’s heels, and chickens peck at potato peels Mama has thrown out the door. Dido holds his willow flute as if contemplating that he might play a note or two.
“Petrus Shumka made a wonderful St. Michael for the play at the harvest festival last year,” Dido says. He lifts his flute to his lips and sounds the tune of the Hetman Bayda. He stands up from the bench and proceeds across the yard to the garden. At the willow fence he sings to Marie.
If my Petrus is not in town
A breath of wind may blow me down.
But if his eyes in mine should glance
With arms akimbo watch me dance!
Oh, the trouble he gives, with eyes so bright,
Black moustache and skin so white!
“Go away,” Marie says, and she stuffs her letter into a pocket in her dress. She laughs at them and runs through the garden to a gate at the other end. From there she disappears into the trees.
Dido and Andrei walk back to the house. Dido lays his flute on the bench, and reaches into his vest pocket for the pouch containing his clay pipe, his one true Cossack heirloom, with the poppy flowers carved on the bowl. He opens the pouch and rolls the pipe around in his fingers like he always does, as if he’s wondering if the Hetman Bayda smoked from a pipe like this. Andrei sits watching the pipe, saying nothing.
“It’s good that Petrus is coming,” Dido says. “Too bad he’s not coming until Christmas. He’s so good in plays, and we need to have a good Cossack play to celebrate the harvest. We need to have a harvest festival...we have a church, but no priest. Can we have a harvest festival without a priest to bless the baskets? And we would need a hall to have a play.”
Andrei spits out the shell of a sunflower seed. Nobody’s house is big enough for a real honest-to-goodness play. A festival would bring people all the way from Wakaw and Alvena. Maybe Gabriel and Chi Pete would come. There is only one building, and that is the church.
“If we had a priest,” Dido says, “we’d have a regular church harvest festival. We’d have ‘The Blessing of the Fruit.’ But Wasyl Kuzyk says a priest can’t come from Winnipeg this year. There are too many other parishes to attend.”
“So why don’t we have a play? And music. Gabriel can bring his Uncle Moise to play the violin. Marie can talk Gabriel into it. Maybe talk him into taking a part. Don’t you think so, Dido? Would God be upset if we used the church to put on a play? Don’t you think the church is wasted when we have no priest?”
“We have Kuzyk.”
“He’s no priest,” Andrei says. “But we could ask him. He lives right across the road from the church. He takes care of it like he owns it.”
“A play for harvest festival...in the church.” Dido rolls his flute around in his hands, and then he tugs at his moustache. “What would I do without you, Andrei? What better place to give our thanks?”
•••
“I don’t know,” Mr. Kuzyk says the very next morning, peering upwards at the icons along the face of the choir loft.
“We could have singers up there,” Dido says. “Angels! You can be St. Michael, Andrei. Too bad there’s not some way to make you fly.”
“But the church has been blessed,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “When the priest comes from Winnipeg, the cantor sings up there. I sing up there. We can’t desecrate Holy objects with a play.”
“What is ‘desecrate’? Andrei asks.
“Like cursing,” Dido says, “or spitting on the altar. We can lug the altar outside behind the church, and the Holy pictures, the banners. But we might be able to use the banner of St. Michael.”
“Who will be in this play?” Mr. Kuzyk asks.
“Andrei here, and Marie. Maybe you can be in it, Wasyl.”
“And the Smuk boys from Alvena,” Andrei says. “They can be the little devils.” Robbin, Bobbin, and Dobbin Smuk. They will come for sure. Who would be better in
a play than the Smuks?
“Maybe Gabriel,” Dido says.
“Sure,” Andrei says. “Marie will talk him into it.”
“Who will I be?” Mr. Kuzyk asks.
“The big devil,” Dido says.
“Devil? How can a cantor be a devil?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dido says.
“Of course it matters!” Mr. Kuzyk says. “To be a cantor is to hold a sacred office of the Church. It is the next thing to being the priest.”
“For sure,” Dido says. “But a play is like a parable in the Bible. The play says one thing, but by that it really means to say something else. So if you do the part of the devil in the play, and if the play is meant to teach the Holy Gospel, then of course you can see how sacred your part in the play really is...you know, like a parable.”
For a moment, Mr. Kuzyk scratches his head, but then he nods. “Of course,” he says, “even as cantor, my job in the Church is to help spread the Holy Gospel.”
Chapter 16
By now in their new land, the Baydas think they have reason to feel at least half secure. Their main worry all summer has been whether they’d be able to prepare enough provisions to survive a winter. They still don’t know if Mr. Kuzyk exaggerates when he talks about Canadian winters, but at least it seems that firewood is limitless; they shouldn’t freeze. They have been luckier than most people, to have a proper house built so they won’t have to hunch down in a buda like bears their first winter. But they still don’t have a plough. Tato decides they will borrow one from Mr. Kuzyk. They’ll need the harvest wages to buy enough flour to last the winter. They’ll need dried fruit, sugar, and medicines if anyone gets sick. Tato and Dido will want a winter’s supply of tobacco. And Tato says it wouldn’t be right not to pay off the debt to Sam Zitchka.
Andrei and the Snow Walker Page 11
